


About Last Night

by kissmelikeapirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 07:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10328780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmelikeapirate/pseuds/kissmelikeapirate
Summary: They really shouldn't have slept together. But they did. Now for the aftermath.





	

_ A prompt from distant-rose (tumblr): best friends secretly pining plus locked in a closet by other frustrated, impatient and exasperated friends. Dedicated to Ztofan _

 

Emma Swan: expert at running away from shit. That’s what her obituary would say.

And by shit it would mean anything remotely resembling a situation where her emotions would be exposed and she would get hurt. Which was why she was currently hiding in Mary Margaret Nolan’s den.

“I’m failing to see the problem,” the brunette mused over a steaming cup of tea.

“Ms - I slept with Killian.”

Emma hugged her mug of cocoa more tightly.

“Still not seeing the problem.

Emma glared at her.

Killian Jones had been her best friend since ended up living next door to each other five years ago and they had discovered a mutual appreciation for pizza and B movies. He was handsome, dryly funny, had a cute accent and was totally off limits. One of the first rules of friendship: you don’t fuck each other.

_ Until you do. _

“We were drunk. It was so goddamn awkward this morning I practically crawled out of his apartment-”

“-and then came here to hide?” Mary Margaret interjected.

“You know you’re taking that sipping tea and judging you meme way too far.”

“And I think you are being stupid. You two should have been a thing years ago. We all think that.”

With a soft groan, Emma pulled the hood of her hoodie over her head. If she had to hear one more time all the reasons why her and Killian should be ( _ read ‘already are’ _ ) in a relationship she would scream. “Look Ms, can I just crash here for a bit?”

She could see the retort on her friend’s lips; thankfully she just shrugged. “Fine. David and I are going antiquing so you have the place to yourself.”

“Perfect,” Emma sighed, draining her cup. Alone (and far away from Jones) was just what she needed.

* * *

The doorbell had rang, or at least she thought that was what had awoken her from a very inappropriate dream.

(Yes, about  _ him _ .)

Emma pressed her hands against her eyes to wipe away some of the tiredness. She checked her watch: it was almost 7pm. She had slept the whole afternoon through. 

“Time to go hide in my own apartment,” she whispered to herself, gathering up her jacket and purse from the ottoman where she had left them earlier. Stepping into the hallway, she was pulling on the coat when she head  familiar voice.

“So what was so urgent that you needed me here?”

Shit. Killian?

_ Shit. Shit. Shit! _

Startled, she froze, planning an escape route- But not quick enough because a second later, Ruby Lucas was rounding the corner with a devious look on her face.

“Just the girl I was looking for.”

“Huh?” Emma scrunched her brow. “What the hell are you doing here?”

It wasn’t Ruby who replied, it was yet another of their little friendship group, Belle French.

“I think you’d call it an intervention?” she asked, giving Ruby a look. 

Ruby just shrugged. “We know you and Jones screwed last night.” 

She was always the blunt one.

“Rubes, I wish you wouldn’t use that word-” Belle said.

For a second, the two were distracted and Emma made for the door, dashing past them just in time to run into the arms of Mary Margaret. 

“There you are,” she grinned, her smile almost maniacal. Emma pulled back.

“Yes, and here I am leaving,” Emma began, pointing at the door that led out of the apartment.

“Oh, not just yet,” she hummed, “Come with me a second.”

Emma had a bad feeling about whatever was going on, but Ms had such a firm grip on her arm that she had no choice but to be manhandled towards the apartment’s bedroom, Belle and Ruby following on their heels.

“What’s going on guys-”

And then she saw who was waiting in the bedroom: specifically Killian and Ms husband David. Killian looked as perplexed as she did. The two looked at each other. Emma saw his cheeks redden and she could feel her own do the same. 

The last time she had saw him he was naked. Damn, she was naked.

(They had been very naked.)

“I think we all know what’s going on here,” Mary Margaret announced, her co-conspirators nodding in agreement, “You two are idiots and we are not letting out of this room until you have sorted out whatever is going on between you. Oh and by here, I mean the closet.”

Before she could respond, she felt a pair of hands pushing her towards the large walk in closet, Killian a few steps behind her. Then the doors closed, a key turned in the lock and then silence.

“This is juvenile!” Emma cried as she heard her friends leave the room.

“You’ll thank us later,”” Ruby retorted, before the bedroom door slammed shut.

It was dark but Emma could hear Killian’s rapid breathing. Her own heart was doing the same, racing a little as the burn in her cheeks started to fade. She fumbled for the little pull-cord that activated the lighting, blinking when the soft amber tones filled the space.

“So,” he finally said. She watched him stuff his hands in his jean pockets.

“Yeah,” she nodded.

Oh fuck this was awkward. This was complete justification for her belief that last night had been a huge mistake. The scant compensation of a poor drunken memory did not make up for the parts of the evening she did remember. The lap dance she had tried to give him. The attempts at some kama-sutra style moves. The sex talk - oh god, the sex talk.

She could feel herself turning crimson again.

“About last night…”

“Yes, last night,” he replied, barely a whisper. “I was a little drunk.”

“Same,” she nodded, pulling at the sleeves of her hoodie to cover her hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? It takes two. We were both a little… worse for wear.”

“Yes. Not my finest sexual moment, for sure.”

He smiled and she wasn’t sure if she had ever been happier to see him do so. She couldn’t lose that.

“So you’re not mad?”

“Mad, why would I be mad?” she asked.

“Well you did run away this morning. Before we could talk.”

A memory of scrambling around his bedroom and picking up the scattered items of her clothing flashed through her mind. “I was…” she sank to the floor and sat. “I was worried.”

“Worried?”

“That I’d ruined our friendship.”

“How would you have done that?”

Oh shit, didn’t he remember? 

She couldn’t look him in the eye. “It was my idea.”

His face crumpled in confusion for a moment, before his brows raised.

“Remember, you said wouldn’t it be fun to order takeout.”

He stared at her for a moment before she saw the memory register on his features.

“And you said wouldn’t it be more fun to have sex. I had forgotten that little detail.”

He joined her on the floor, pushing aside a stack of shoeboxes so he could stretch out his legs.

Emma scratched nervously at the skin about her neck. “So I’m sorry for being an ass - a drunken ass - and ruining our friendship.”

He nodded thoughtfully and her heart sank just a little. She’d really screwed things up and now she just felt awkward. 

“Want to know a secret?”

Emma gave Killian a curious look. He didn’t look annoyed. But he should be, since it was her idea to have drunken, stupid sex -

“I’ve wanted to make a move for a long time but I haven’t been brave enough. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship and I wasn’t sure if you even had the faintest interest in my that way.”

“Killian…”

He leaned a little closer.

“But that’s the thing, I don’t want to lose you, my best friend. And I know how much you hate all this emotional stuff, so I will happily forget that this ever happened if it’s what you want.”

He was giving her an easy out? Killian Jones always kept his word: she knew if she asked he would never mention this again. 

“If keeping your friendship means that door is permanently closed, I’ll take it. Emma - I don’t want you to feel awkward around me.” He reached up and cupped her face, her heart fluttered in her chest. “As much as having more with you would be amazing,” his eyes searched her face, “Your friendship is too precious to me to risk.”

And just like that, Killian Jones had gotten as close to declaring feelings as he knew Emma could cope with. 

He’d wanted more? Just like she had - but had been too chicken to go out on a limb and say something (until she was drunk and it came out as propositioning him).

Emma placed her hand over his and pulled it into her lap.

“Hey Killian, about last night…”

“Hmmm?” he hummed, staring at her with such overt affection that she wondered if he had ever looked at her that way before.

“It wasn’t a one time thing. I mean, it wasn’t just because I was drunk.”

He smiled again. Emma took back her earlier assessment: this smile was the best one he had ever given her, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his grin broad, the dimples in his cheeks deepening.

“I have feelings for you,” she finished.

He kissed her.

They would always count this as their first kiss. Tentative hands holding each other, soft mouths and gasping breaths - the kind of romance story kiss that she’d read about dozens of times but was yet to experience. It seems after five years of knowing Killian, she was about to learn a whole other side of him.

Like he was a lovely kisser.

That he liked to press tiny kisses on her forehead. 

That he liked to sneak his hand under her shirt and draw his fingers over the bare skin of her back.

That he tasted like peppermint-

(You get the picture).

After a long, long, kiss that left them tangled together on the floor of the closet (thank god for shag pile carpeting, Emma had thought), she lay against him, basking in the glow of possibility.

“I’m really not prepared for their smug faces,” he admitted.

“Well we could stay here, let them sweat it out…”

“And what on earth shall we do to pass the time.”

Emma looked up to the top of the closet, there spare pillows had been stored, perfect for a makeshift bed.

“I may have an idea or two.”

* * *

They would count that time in Mary Margaret’s closet as their first ‘real’ time.

The first of many.

  
  



End file.
